Infinitely Losing My Edge
Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from Spain and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1964 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary kids in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered nineties.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing The Gladiators to the dance kids.
I played it at Trash.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.
I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody.
Every great song by Beasts of Bourbon. All the underground hits.
All Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Shoche record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Iggy Pop record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Joy Division,
Jacob Miller,
Grey Daturas,
The Sonics,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Rites of Spring,
The Walker Brothers,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Kool Moe Dee,
Negative Approach,
Eve St. Jones,
Panda Bear,
Aaron Thompson,
In Retrospect,
Jacques Brel,
The Saints,
The Flesh Eaters,
Derrick Morgan,
Steve Hackett,
Ultimate Spinach,
Jeff Mills,
EPMD,
Andrew Hill,
The Slackers,
The Dead C,
Ponytail,
Roxette,
Loose Ends,
Gerry Rafferty,
Pharoah Sanders,
Franke,
Wolf Eyes,
The Five Americans,
Sun City Girls,
The Red Krayola,
Sugar Minott,
Talk Talk,
Eurythmics,
Ultra Naté,
Funkadelic,
Davy DMX,
Sex Pistols,
The Neon Judgement,
Urselle,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Nik Kershaw,
The Pretty Things,
Kurtis Blow,
The New Christs,
Nirvana,
Ronan,
Groovy Waters,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Juan Atkins,
Sister Nancy,
Spandau Ballet,
LL Cool J,
The Barracudas,
Visage,
PIL, PIL, PIL, PIL.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.